


Clean

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 09:18:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3322097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Laxus is deep in a dream, caught in his own unconscious hallucination, and if he were to turn over to the resistance he is expecting there would be hardly a flicker in his mental landscape. But his arm goes out into empty space, hits nothing but air as he moves, and the lack of another presence is enough to draw him into bleary consciousness." Laxus goes looking for Freed early in the morning and finds him in the shower.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clean

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shiny_Pichu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiny_Pichu/gifts).



Laxus wakes up when he rolls over.

He’s deep in a dream, caught in his own unconscious hallucination, and if he were to turn over to the resistance he is expecting there would be hardly a flicker in his mental landscape. But his arm goes out into empty space, hits nothing but air as he moves, and the lack of another presence is enough to draw him into bleary consciousness.

He groans, first, incoherent protest to the lack of the warm form that is usually next to him. Then he blinks, shoves at the blankets at if that will somehow reveal Freed to him, and just as he’s starting to sit up to frown at the empty sheets he identifies the sound of running water.

“Oh,” he says aloud, filling the space Freed has left with the sound of his own voice. If Freed were here he wouldn’t get out of bed yet, might linger for another hour or two with the warmth of the other’s skin to lull him back to sleep, but staying in bed is far less appealing when he considers doing it alone and wholly intolerable when he thinks about Freed with his hair loose around his shoulders and skin wet from the shower. In the end he’s moving before he’s made it much past that second image, humming unconsciously under his breath as he makes his way to the bathroom door and pushes it open.

He’s not making any effort to be quiet. Still, the sound of the water is loud enough that he’s faintly impressed when Freed calls, “Laxus?” before the door has swung shut behind him.

“Yeah.” Laxus drags a hand over his face, considers the hot-damp air of the room.

“I didn’t think you were awake.” Freed sounds concerned, faintly confused, maybe. Laxus can’t hear him moving under the splash of the water at all.

“I wasn’t.” The blond slides his fingers under the waist of his pajama pants, pushes them off his hips and lets them puddle at the floor. “I woke up and you were gone.”

“Sorry.” Freed sounds sincerely contrite, like he thinks this fact is really somehow his fault. “I can come out if you want.”

“Nah.” Laxus kicks his clothes to the side, comes in towards the shower. “I’ll join you.”

“Oh,” Freed says, and then Laxus is pulling the curtain aside, stepping in before Freed has collected his expression from wide-eyed shock. There’s a hunch in his shoulders, reflexive movement like he’s trying to flinch back before he remembers who Laxus is, who  _he_  is to Laxus, who they are to each other.

Laxus wonders, as he always wonders, if Freed will ever get over that reflex. For now it’s enough that it fades almost immediately, the adrenaline easing out of his shoulders as Laxus reaches out to brush the wet weight of hair away and over Freed’s back. Without the strands in the way he can see the way the water skids off Freed’s collarbone, the way the damp catches in his eyelashes to turn them dark and heavy with liquid.

“Didn’t you take a shower last night?” Laxus asks, stepping in closer so he can reach for Freed’s hip. Freed turns towards him before his fingers have even made contact, blinking the water from his lashes and reaching up to push his hair back from his face.

“Yes.” He’s careful with the word, like he’s admitting to something he’s not entirely sure is okay. “My hair’s easiest to style in the morning while it’s still wet.”

“Mm.” Laxus draws Freed in closer, presses his mouth to the damp at Freed’s forehead. It’s not quite a kiss as much as tasting the wet off his skin, but Freed’s eyes still flutter shut, his mouth curving into a surprised smile as Laxus’s mouth touches his skin. “I like the way it looks like this.” He pushes his fingers into the wet strands, turning his head to look around Freed’s shoulder at the way the water turns the locks into a wave of green against the clean line of the other’s shoulders. Freed’s hair is always startlingly long, when Laxus considers it, falling smooth past his hips like a curtain of color across the pale of his skin.

Freed leans in closer when Laxus slides his hand down across the other’s back, ducking his head against the dark tattoo at the blond’s shoulder and carefully landing his fingers at Laxus’s hips. Laxus lets the strands of hair catch on his fingertips as the spray from the shower dampens his hair and skin. Freed is warm against him, heated by the steam from the water and radiant in and of himself, all the pleasant heat that was absent from the bed pressed back against Laxus’s shoulder where he belongs.

Laxus slides his hand down as far as he can reach, follows the line of Freed’s hair until the stretch becomes too much. Then he pushes at Freed’s hip, offering “Turn around” only as belated clarification once Freed has already begun to move. Freed twists in place, offers the line of his shoulders and the curve of his back for Laxus’s consideration, and Laxus hums satisfaction as he reaches out to slide his hand in against the other’s waist. Freed looks like a sculpture, his skin turned porcelain smooth by the sheen of the water running across his back; every line under his skin is thrown into relief by the fall of liquid over his shoulders, until Laxus could believe he is touching marble were it not for the tremble of adrenaline Freed always has when the blond touches him.

Laxus steps in closer, bumps his foot against Freed’s as he lets his hand trace in against the curving line of the other’s hip. “You’re not in a hurry, are you?”

He can hear the breath the other takes, the sound so resonant it’s audible even over the sound of the water. Freed reaches out, carefully sets his hand flat and bracing against the wall in front of him.

“No.” His shoulders tense, steadying himself in place as Laxus glides his hand sideways across the flat of Freed’s stomach. “I always have time for you, Laxus.”

Laxus grins against the wet of Freed’s hair. “I know you do,” he says, lets the words roll warm and pleased over his tongue. Freed laughs, the sound shaky-weak but sincere all the same, and Laxus leans in to lick the water off his shoulder as he slides his fingers to curl around Freed’s cock. Freed’s hard before Laxus touches him, had started to flush warm with interest even before he turned around, and even with his arm braced he shivers at the touch, shaking until Laxus chuckles and wraps his free arm around Freed’s waist to hold him steady. When he pulls him back Freed goes easily, curving in against Laxus’s chest and bumping in against the blond’s length, but Laxus doesn’t pause to do more than hum pleasure at the contact and rock in a little closer. There will be time enough for him in a minute; right now he’s focused in on the flutter of Freed’s breathing in the damp air, the tension in his shoulder and braced-out arm, the way he flushes harder against Laxus’s fingers with every stroke of the blond’s hand. On his own Freed would be dangerously unsteady on his feet, but Laxus has his feet braced firm against the slippery floor of the shower, and he’s counteracting the trembling in Freed’s body with the support of his arm, letting the secondhand shivers running through the other hum warm into his blood.

He likes Freed like this, as he likes Freed all the time, but especially stripped free of the various pieces that make him presentable to the rest of the world. Freed looks good in his self-imposed uniform, with his hair smooth and even across his face and his expression composed into lines of responsibility, but he’s better like this, with the deliberate style washed out of his hair and off his skin, all white lines and the waterfall of green down his back as he gasps himself apart under Laxus’s touch. It makes Laxus purr, brings pleasure warm and rumbling against his chest to match the shaky inhales Freed is taking, and he loses track of time, loses his attention for anything but the slim form pressed up against him and the sound of Freed’s breathing catching faster and harder in his throat. The splash of the water drowns out everything else, leaves them caught together in a haven of steam and heat, so there is nothing at all to distract Laxus from the way Freed tenses and gasps, from the way his name sounds broken into tight-wound desire, Freed whimpering the syllables as he comes over the blond’s fingers. The water rinses them both clean almost immediately, but Laxus keeps stroking anyway, drawing the last shivers of pleasure out of the other before he lets him go.

“That was fun,” he says against the back of Freed’s neck.

Freed laughs, the sound cracking on the too-fast pace of his breathing. Then he turns, sliding damp under Laxus’s touch, and he’s smiling, his expression as warm as the water and clean of all his usual hesitation. He leans in, turns his head up so the water catches against his lips and  eyelashes, and Laxus ducks down to take the offered kiss, licking the droplets off the warmth of Freed’s mouth. They fit together even better this way, with Freed’s feet between Laxus’s and Freed’s fingers gliding down his hips, and Laxus knows what is coming, doesn’t pull away or react other than to hum low against Freed’s mouth as the other’s touch skims across his cock. Freed’s fingers are gentle, careful and tentative like Laxus is far more fragile than he is in truth, something to be appreciated with all the reverence of an idol; Laxus isn’t even certain he would tighten his hand at all if the blond didn’t laugh in what is mostly amusement mingled with the leading edge of frustration and reach out to close his fingers around Freed’s to steady his grip.

“Don’t tease,” Laxus demands.

“I wasn’t--” Freed starts, but the words die in his throat when Laxus rocks his hips forward and up against the resistance of his fingers. He ducks his head instead, eyelashes fluttering heavy and breathless in anticipation, and when he moves it’s to draw his hand up against Laxus’s length instead of to speak again. His touch is steady, his fingers gliding with more dexterity than Laxus ever bothers with alone, and the blond groans at the satisfaction of the touch, lets his arm drop heavy around Freed’s shoulders as he leans in to rest his mouth at the edge of the other’s forehead. Freed is hot against him, all the lines of his body washed clean and shining by the shower spray, and he’s bracing himself against Laxus’s hip with his free hand, ducking his head as if to ensure he brings all his attention to bear on the steady stroke of his hand. His focus makes Laxus smile, in the moment before Freed’s fingers draw tighter and push amusement right out of his head with the force of the friction spreading out under his skin, heat to match the steam off the shower. It sends calm running through his veins, the promise of satisfaction slipping through him until he’s leaning hard on the support of Freed’s shoulders, trusting his balance as much to the other as to his own feet. The air in his lungs is heavy with water, damp catching at his mouth and Freed’s skin alike, and there’s some faint almost-floral scent in the air, lingering remnants of soap or maybe Freed’s shampoo to haze Laxus’s thoughts into pleasure. He takes a breath, lets the heat and the scent and the moment fill his lungs and spread out into his veins; then he lets it go, all the collected almost-tension flooding out of him to make room for the wave of pleasure hitting him from Freed’s touch.

He’s surprised they manage to stay upright through the rush of satisfaction in his veins. By the time Laxus reclaims his own balance he’s leaning almost entirely on Freed, pushing the other back against the wall of the shower so the least movement would send them both slipping into a fall. But they keep their feet, even as Laxus regains his footing and Freed lets his stalled-still hold go, opens his hand to the splash of the water to rinse his skin clean.

Laxus could move away. The steam is becoming oppressive in the overheated wake of his orgasm, his body remembering why he doesn’t usually get up this early in the morning and protesting the exertion he has put it through. What he does instead is fold himself to the floor of the shower, dropping to his knees and pulling Freed down with him by the arm still looped around the other’s shoulders. Freed laughs, half-nervous and half-confused, but Laxus can feel himself starting to smile, pleased enough for the satisfaction to override his usual morning irritation. He slides back in the shower, out of the direct spray of the water, drawing Freed back so he can pull the other against his chest instead of hovering an awkward half-inch. It’s better with Freed against him, the warm of the water soothing instead of excessive, and Laxus tips his head back against the wall of the shower, shuts his eyes, and lets himself fall back into his interrupted doze.


End file.
